


Pretty Sure This Is Just Like What Happened at Kittyhawk

by tobinlaughing



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Caw Caw Motherfucker, Gen, Learning curve, ok this looks bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 12:59:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1470703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobinlaughing/pseuds/tobinlaughing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint gets a chance at Falcon's exopack</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Sure This Is Just Like What Happened at Kittyhawk

It's not a big battle, thank God (and after New York, nothing is big anymore)--more like a skirmish, a sortie, a chance for the partially-assembled Avengers to do some good while slotting their new teammate into his position in the fray. And it's not going badly, not at first. Granted, there's more running than Clint really feels he needs on any given Tuesday, but Nat's always elbowing him in the ribs asking if he needs that latest hot-wing or beer, so he's not going to gripe. 

But then a lucky blast from someone's wide-dispersal laser cannon sweeps both Iron Man and Falcon out of the sky and while Stark's repulsors kick in to keep him airborne while he shakes the rattle out of his ears, Sam is unceremoniously dumped out of the air and onto Clint's rooftop, his exopack folding the wings neatly as Sam groans and bleeds onto the gravel. Clint gets off one last shot, nailing a sniper to his post with a wire-net arrow (because, net arrows!) as he runs to check on the downed Falcon.

"Hawkeye, you got Falcon?" Steve practically bellows into his earpiece.

"Yeah, Cap, just hold on, he's here. Let me..." Clint strips the wristguard off his left arm so he can check Sam's pulse (rapid, but slowing, and steady) and pry back his eyelids (pupils still expanding and contracting, although the left is slower to iris closed than the right). His face is scraped from the inelegant landing on the gravel roof and he groans when Clint rolls him over to sit up against the roof-access stairwell door, but otherwise he seems surprisingly all right. 

"I'm good, I'm good," he confirms blearily a second later, coming fully aware again. "Nah, man, I gotta get back--" and he tries to stand, failing spectacularly. 

"Careful, man, you're going to waste what good looks you've got left," Clint steadies him, then starts searching for the buckles for the exopack. "Falcon's out for the moment," he calls out to the rest of the team, "and we'll need medevac from up here as soon as the sky's clear--"

A blast of loud, searing heat scorches the gravel just past Clint's heels and he ducks to cover Sam, coughing at the sudden stench of melting tar and hot rocks. An imitation quinjet hovers just above the roof, recalibrating its guns for a better hit; two explosive-tipped shafts are whilstling towards it even as Clint reshoulders his bow and yanks Sam more or less to his feet. There's another laser blast ; one arrow is knocked out of commission but the second finds its target on the jet's right rotor, giving Clint time to stash Sam inside the stairwell and stare, for the briefest moment, at the exopack.

What the hell, right?

Shouldered, strapped, powered up: Clint steps out from behind the stairwell door, his bow and quiver stowed in favor of a pair of pistols as the exopack's wings are unfolding with a smooth mechanical motion. The weight will take some getting used to, but it's not as much as he expected. The quinjet sights down on him, wavering only slightly in the air from the loss of one turbine. Clint stares into the windshield for a moment, daring them to fire, then breaks and sprints for the edge of the roof.

" **Caw caw, motherf** \--"

Turns out the Falcon suits have a learning curve and for Clint, it's less a _curve_ and more of a _straight four-story plunge_ before he figures out to stow his guns and grab the outstretched wing controls. There is no grace to his wrenching save out of the suicidal first dive, but the gambit worked: a high-value target now, with Sam's coveted exopack getting away from them, the quinjet takes off in limping pursuit. Sam's arms must be a little longer than Clint's, but he's got a wobbling hang of this whole high-speed flight thing in no time.

Kayso, the exo's rocket boosters only work when both hands are on the controls, meaning Clint can't reach for or fire a weapon if he wants to actually stay ahead of the quinjet and not plastered across its bow. Letting go of either control makes the wings snap out to the side to facilitate gliding, and just turning his body in one direction or another isn't enough to steer the suit. Pitching and rolling take some serious body English to get the wings to respond, and Sam's aerial maneuvers are getting more impressive by the minute. 

"Legolas, are you nuts?" Iron Man rockets past him, blasting the pursuant quinjet with a repuslor beam. Clint has now gotten the hang of moving in a straight line and with the quinjet spiraling towards the empty parking lot below, he feels that now might be the time to try the whole landing thing.

"I know, Stark, this looks bad, but--" Thrusting his heels out to take out the nearest thug, Clint remembers to power down the jets only after he and the street-bound goon squad are sprawled out over the pavement, sporting long road-rashes from cheeks to shins. Clint hopes someone saw the two furthest henchmen plow headfirst into the side of a parked car, and only has time to wonder briefly if that'd be covered under a driver's collision policy, or if collision with multiple human heads was a more complicated insurance issue. 

Later, when the goons are cleaned up and the Avengers have all finally come back to roost at the relative safety of the Tower, Clint very sheepishly hands the exopack back to Sam. "You and Stark make it look so easy," he mutters, holding a steak over his left eye.

"Stark's got an AI flying for him, right?" Sam laughs, winces, and shifts in his chair before accepting the exopack from Clint. "So even though I went down like a chump today, what you should be saying is _I_ make this look easy. Hell, I make this look _good_." 

Clint chuckles. "Yeah, man, you do. I bet with a little practice, though--" but Sam gives him the best bitch face he can muster.

"You think I'm letting you take my baby out for a spin any time soon?" He snorts. "You scratched the paint, Hawkguy. Scratching the paint don't make you any friend of Falcon's." But he laughs anyway when Clint does, and concedes that he might let Clint try the wings again if ever he feels up to it.


End file.
